


conversations in the night

by abrightgrayworld



Category: Leverage
Genre: Angst, Discussion of Racism, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post 5x11 The Low Low Price Job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22091053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrightgrayworld/pseuds/abrightgrayworld
Summary: Eliot and Hardison have a heart-to-heart after Eliot's visit to his father's.
Relationships: Alec Hardison & Eliot Spencer
Comments: 24
Kudos: 89
Collections: 2019 Leverage Secret Santa Exchange





	conversations in the night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gilbert_H_Karr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gilbert_H_Karr/gifts).



> This is a gift for Gilbert_H_Karr, whose request included some extensions of canon moments in the series. I decided to do a little follow-up after the very sad ending of 5x11, The Low Low Price Job. I hope you enjoy it! <3
> 
> Content warning for: discussions of racism

Eliot cries the whole drive back to the airport.

It’s a soft, ceaseless kind of crying that comes from deep within his chest. Every bit of hurt and anger and grief that he had ruthlessly buried about his father, all the way back from when he’d had that fight with his father the night before he’d left, has rushed straight back into the forefront of his mind.

“If you leave here tonight and enlist, then you’re no son of mine anymore!” The words surface sharply in his mind, and he lets out a shuddering breath, swiping his sleeve over his eyes to clear the blur of tears. Pop had roared those words, his face twisted in fury and, worse, certainty. Eliot had yelled something back, something sharp and snide and so, so naïve, and then he had been gone.

His father had been right. The military, and then fucking Moreau, had chewed Eliot up, ground him to pieces, and spit him back up. Pop had always been skeptical about “serving their country.” “Pure bullshit, boy,” he’d say darkly. “There’s no war happening right now worth defending this piece of shit country and killing innocent people. Bet you anything they’re manufacturing it to send all you young’uns out there, in the name of patriotism or whatever garbage they’re selling these days. Bullshit.”

Eliot had been young, idealistic, molded by what his country had told him were its values. He hadn’t given enough credit to his Pop, and it had hurt him in the end. It was all his fault.

Eliot’s eyes water again as he recalls the truck in the driveway. Pop had been home. He still hadn’t opened the door.

He swears violently and swipes at his eyes again. _Enough,_ he tells himself, and pushes his feelings all the way down, forcing himself into a deep façade of calm. This is familiar, and it hurts so much, but he can live with it. He’s been living with it for years.

He makes it onto his plane and zones out for the ride home. He keeps his gaze on the pitch-black sky and ignores the heartache that goes deep down into his bones.

As soon as Eliot turns his phone back on after he lands, he gets a message from Hardison.

_Come over after you land,_ it reads. There’s a second message a moment later. _If you want. No pressure._

Eliot sighs tiredly. Of course Hardison was keeping an eye on him. He almost regrets telling Hardison about Pop—almost. That look of soft, patient understanding on Hardison’s face…that had warmed Eliot more than he wants to admit.

Eliot pauses. It’s four in the morning; Nate will probably have a job soon and Eliot should get whatever rest he can. Hell, he shouldn’t burden Hardison with this at all. He’s always had to deal with it on his own.

Except…he doesn’t have to, does he?

Parker had once told him something Hardison had said to her: _We’re a little more than a team._

Eliot texts Hardison, _Be over in half an hour._

Hardison sends back a winky face and Eliot snorts, a smile tugging his lips for the first time all day. Night. Whatever.

The drive to the brewpub is short and comfortingly familiar. Eliot lets himself in with his key, breathing in the stillness of the brewpub in the dark, letting it settle him. Then he walks upstairs and opens the door.

Hardison is sprawled on the couch, laptop perched precariously on his legs, eyes trained on the screen.

“Hey, man,” he mumbles. “Give me one sec.” His fingers go flying over the keys, and Eliot sinks into a chair opposite him.

“Where’s Parker?” he asks.

Hardison hums. “Gone for the night. Think she’s staking out a new exhibit at the museum.”

A few more minutes, and Hardison finally looks up and closes his laptop. They’re both silent for a while.

Eliot finally says, “You were keeping tabs on me?”

Hardison shrugs. “I keep tabs on everyone. Not, like, super invasive ones,” he adds hurriedly, “But just alerts whenever you all go flying around the world. Just in case we don’t hear from you and we have to go looking.”

Eliot nods. “I knew that,” he says. “I meant…you were keeping tabs on me tonight?”

Hardison’s eyes soften. “I was expecting you back later. You only just got there, so…”

Eliot looks away. He can feel that quiet patience again, and just like it did the first time, it’s wearing him down.

“Okay,” Hardison says after a moment. “Want some beer? I think this is the perfect time to catch you up on Star Wars. The originals, of course, because the prequels are a goddamn trainwreck, and Parker is a liar and a traitor if she thinks CGI Yoda is better—” He continues to ramble, making to get up. Eliot clears his throat and Hardison pauses.

“He was there,” Eliot says shakily. Hardison slowly sits back down. “His truck was in the driveway. But he didn’t open the door.”

“Oh,” Hardison says. His eyes are warm, sympathetic, but not pitying, and Eliot kind of wants to cry again. “I’m sorry.”

Eliot shakes his head. “I’m the one who should be sorry. He warned me about joining up. He knew that this country was horrible and evil and that serving it would be serving the devil himself. I should have listened.”

“You were young. Naïve. You hadn’t—you hadn’t been told otherwise. Or learned otherwise,” Hardison says. There’s a shadow in his eyes, and Eliot’s stomach drops a little. Hardison had learned that young, far too young, just by virtue of being who he is. Eliot hates his younger self more and more, the privileged one who hadn’t really known what pain meant, what evils the world really held.

“But people can change, Eliot. You know that. You’re living proof.” Hardison leans back. “It’s been what, a couple decades since you last saw him? After all this time, your dad should have realized that you couldn’t have been that same teenager. He shouldn’t have left you out there without hearing you out.”

Eliot exhales shakily. “I don’t know what to do, now,” he confesses. “Do I try again?”

Hardison taps his fingers on his thigh, thinking. “I don’t know,” he says. “Family’s hard, Eliot. I don’t know why your dad did what he did. Maybe he feels guilty, and he wasn’t ready to face you, and that’s why he didn’t open the door. Or maybe he really doesn’t want to see you.” He winces apologetically. “Sorry. My point is, I don’t think any decision you make would be wrong, because you don’t know what he’s really thinking. For what it’s worth, I don’t think trying one more time is a bad idea.”

Eliot snorts. “Maybe not another visit home.”

Hardison smiles, a little sad. “Maybe not. But a phone call? An email? I could get you his information, if you wanted. This might just be something you guys need time to heal.”

Eliot nods, then sighs again. “Hardison? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want but…when was the first time you realized? You know, that the country, the world, whatever, isn’t what they tell us it is?”

Hardison frowns a little, and he looks hesitant. “Um,” he says. “I guess the question would be, when did I not know? Could be when the first few foster homes I went to were all with white people, and all racist as hell. Called me slurs, made me do way more chores than the other kids, never believed me over them. Or when even from when I was as young as ten, the police has always looked at me all suspicious, hands on their guns. When people follow me around as I’m shopping.” He slides a look at Eliot. “When people don’t believe me when I say something is racist, or that I’m in danger in ways y’all aren’t.”

Eliot’s stomach drops, for real this time. His mind flashes back to that job they’d taken in the woods, when they had encountered that militia. He’d dismissed Hardison’s concerns about it being a “Black thing” without a thought. How many times has he done that before? How many things has he missed in their multiple interactions with the police and FBI?

“Hardison,” Eliot says, and he puts as much emotion as he can into his voice. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Hardison shrugs, and this time, he’s the one who looks away. “It’s not okay,” he says, and his voice is a little rough. “But I know you’re all good people. And I believe that you’re trying, and you’ll get some of it, some day.”

He stands. “Come on,” he says. “You can stay over. You look dead on your feet.”

Eliot nods, mind still whirling over his revelation. He’s always known Hardison is good in a way the rest of them aren’t, but he hadn’t realized that Hardison has as many burdens to bear as the rest of them, burdens they’ll never fully understand. Or, to be honest, have never made the effort to understand. Parker has, maybe, but the rest of them…

“Hardison,” Eliot says. The hacker turns, raising an eyebrow. Eliot steps into him, walls down just this once, and hugs him tight.

Hardison freezes, then hugs him back just as tight.

“Thank you,” Eliot says, and he smiles for the second time that night. Hardison smiles back as they draw apart.

“Anytime,” he says softly. “Night, Eliot.”

Eliot retreats into the guest room and lies back on the bed, thinking. For his reconciliation with his dad, and to be a better friend to Hardison, he resolves that he has to become better. He can’t hang onto the traces of that naïve kid without a care in the world. He owes that to them both.

And to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed, and I'd love to hear thoughts!
> 
> Happy new year! <3


End file.
